


The End, and Yet Not the End

by Goodneighbor_Neighbor (Fan_by_Proxy)



Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [9]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Barebacking, Church Sex, Confessional Sex, F/M, Hair Braiding, Hair-pulling, Making Love, Making Out, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24052333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan_by_Proxy/pseuds/Goodneighbor_Neighbor
Summary: The Institute is gone, and now comes the aftermath. What do you do with a child that doesn't age? How do you plan a home together when most of the Commonwealth doesn't want your partner? Those aren't easy questions to answer, and there aren't answers here: but there are still hopes and dreams and solid enough plans for the future for Hancock and his Sole to get by.
Relationships: John Hancock & Female Sole Survivor, John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor
Series: Commonwealth Kinks [2019 Prompt List] [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727050
Comments: 10
Kudos: 30





	1. So Long Institute, Hello Husband

It was quiet on the roof once the last Railroader and Institute refugee crowded onto the elevators to make their way down and out. Hancock dragged a pair of lawn chairs from the other side of the roof--no doubt a leftover Raider drinking point, with its view of the water and the amount of broken glass littered around the seats--and set them behind Yvette with a solid slam. He wasn’t trying to startle her; he just wanted to be sure they didn’t collapse underneath them.

Yvette stood, swaying slightly in the breeze, watching the wreckage. The dust was settling, spreading out over the Commonwealth in clumps and hazy bunches, and she tried not to think about how much of the soot wasn’t dirt and building materials. Fires ringed the freshly-blown pit, but the breeze carried the smoke away as fast as it could touch the street. Standing above it, watching the chaos, she was just…numb. It had to be done, hadn’t it? There’d been no other way, right? And yet, when the Railroad and the now-freed synths whooped and jumped in victory, she hadn’t been able to join them. It didn’t feel right, and it didn’t feel wrong; it just didn’t _feel_ like anything. She startled when Hancock touched her shoulder, drawing in a gasp that tasted like disappointment.

“Sit with me.” Hancock said quietly, hand drifting from her shoulder to the small of her back. He stood there beside her, watching the light play on her face. “C’mon, beautiful. Sit with me.” he repeated, lowering his head to rest his forehead against her; the sweat caught in her hair still carried that painful iodine smell of the Institute.

Yvette nodded, eyes locked on the horizon, letting Hancock ease her backwards and into the seat. He sat down next to her, folding his hands neatly on his stomach as he settled into his customary wide-legged sprawl. Under the dullness, and the pain under that, Yvette felt another rush of love for Hancock; most everyone else she counted as friends would have tried to reengage her noisily, aggressive in their sincerity. But he knew that when she was like this: quiet, focused, and still aware; that she just needed time to sort through herself. This wasn’t like the Glowing Sea, or the Veterans’ Hall. This was a new moment, a new pain, but it was one she could count on Hancock’s strength to share.

Hancock didn’t bother watching the wreck; it was the Commonwealth. You see one swath of major destruction, you’ve seen them all. No, he watched her; finding himself counting her slow and steady breaths and the number of times she blinked those gorgeous Atomic Blues™. A couple of tears made their way down slowly, cutting trails through the grime on her face, but she wasn’t sobbing. He thought about lighting a cigarette, about passing her one too. She’d probably take it now…but he didn’t. He just sat, and watched, and waited.

“ _Jean_?” she said finally as the sun headed towards its midday high.

“Yeah, beautiful?” Hancock sat up, chair creaking beneath him. She still hadn’t looked away from the wreckage.

“Can you still love me, after this?” Yvette asked quietly.

“Of course I can.” Hancock said firmly. “Kinda question is that, beautiful?”

She reached into her shirt, pulling out the holotape and Shaun’s last letter. His last words, as he’d laid in the bed and watched her attempt to try and deactivate the security measures, had cut deep; the tape and letter less so in that instant, but there was a sense--a vague, not-yet-reasoned-over sense--that they would turn out to be even more unkind in the long run.

Hancock started with the paper. For some so-called genius, the kid--the old man, but her kid--sure hadn’t learned one goddamn thing about his mother in all the time he’d had her. She’d crawled through radioactive hell for the fool and then had the nerve to turn around and call her a cold-hearted bitch. A mean part of him was glad the bastard was dead, and he kinda hoped that it had _hurt_ as the whole damn Institute fell on top of him. It was sick, making the robo-kid, sicker that the old man had thought she’d leave a kid-shaped thing behind, and sickest that now she had a child that’d never grow up. The old man hadn’t bothered to get to know her one goddamn bit, not one goddamn tiny little bit.

“Takin’ this to heart, beautiful?” Hancock thought he’d managed to sound pretty smooth and calm for how genuinely _angry_ he felt. And it wasn’t the worrisome ‘might be going feral’ anger--it was the same kind of gut-clenching, ready-to-fight anger like when those dipshit Brotherhood boys had started edging closer to Goodneighbor. The kind of anger that turned into energy, not a monster eating away at the inside. There was a word for that, but fuck if he knew what it was.

Yvette nodded. “A little. I spent…I tried to spend all of the time I could with Shaun. I wore _so_ many faces, told so many lies, just to be near him. To try and reach the man he had become…to try to find the little pieces of me, of _Martin;_ of my parents and _Martin’s_ parents--of all our families. All those little gifts _we_ give to our children when we make them and we raise them, what they carry on with them after we are gone.” she said softly, closing her eyes. “And yet, he remained a stranger to my heart, and I was stranger to his, all the way through the end…it feels like such a failure of me, that he could suggest I would leave even a synthetic child to die.”

Hancock couldn’t help the little growl that escaped his throat. He got up and stood in front of her seat, grabbed the arms of the chair and forcibly turned it and her around, putting her back to the scene. He then kicked his chair over so he could sit directly across from her, pulling his it so close her knees were between his thighs. “Listen up; I’m only gonna tell you this once, because I dunno if I could ever get it as right as I’m about to get it.” Hancock started firmly, pointing a finger at her as he leaned into her space. “You. Did not. _Fail._ You hear me, beautiful? _You_ weren’t the problem, it was him and that damned Institute. They raised him to be an asshole and he died an asshole, and that wasn’t your fault.” Hancock couldn’t keep the tremor out of his hand and his finger bounced as he spoke. “You’ve done shit nobody in the whole fucking Commonwealth would’ve dreamt of doing to get to him--how many times did you almost die, huh? You went to the goddamned Glowing Sea _three goddamn times,_ just for that asshole. Him thinking you’d let a kid-shaped person die, that shows how fucking little he paid attention, how really fucking stupid he was for all the fucking so-called schooling he had, alright? _I_ know failures and fuck-ups, and you? Ain’t either.”

Yvette stared at him, surprised first at being so forcibly moved and then at the ferocious diatribe Hancock had just unleashed. His face was nearly touching hers, index finger wavering and brushing her lips and the tip of her nose. She had no doubt that her other friends would agree that what was done had needed to be done--even MacCready, whose love for his son was just as great as the idea of hers had been, would have blown the Institute without a second look back to keep the world steady. But Hancock seemed as offended--more offended maybe--at Shaun’s reading of her character.

“Remember Billy? I know people--not even Raiders, just regular people--who would’ve turned him over for the caps like that,” Hancock snapped his fingers, “but not you--you made us take three days to walk him home in daylight; you held his hand, you gave him snack cakes and pop and tried to keep him all cheered up while also trying to explain how _fucked_ this all is compared to what you two were used to.” Hancock sat back, pulling the tricorn off to angrily rake his fingers over his scalp; the thoughts were coming almost too fast to spit out, and he worried suddenly that he wasn’t making sense. But these things had to be said; she _had_ to be reminded of at least some of the reasons why she wasn’t a failure. “You were trying to figure out places to take him that’d be safe for him because you thought his folks were dead--them being there, that was a stroke of dumb fucking luck like I ain’t never seen--and then you defended them. Told’em where they could go if they needed to; just did like you always do. Like _you always do,_ beautiful! Somebody needs help, you jump in and help, even when it’s a dumb fucking idea.” Hancock snatched up the letter where it had fallen during the shuffle. “This was written by an asshole who didn’t know a goddamn thing about you, who didn’t pay one fucking bit of attention, or else he’d’ve known in five minutes that of all the people in the Commonwealth to unload his little science project on, _you_ would be the only one to take it without hesitating.”

Yvette drew in a deep breath and let it out shakily.

There was another reason Hancock was so angry, he realized just then. If the kid was a synth, how was he supposed to grow up? The old bastard had, in one last real fuck-you to the woman who’d given him her goddamn life twice over, saddled her with an impossible task. Raise a kid who never aged, while she did, and then what was the kid gonna do? If the old bastard had done the job he said he had, then one day the kid was gonna have to bury her, and then what?! Hancock didn’t really like brushing against the idea of Yvette’s mortality; it was about on par with considering his own…but either the old man hadn’t been as smart as he thought himself, or he was officially the meanest sumbitch--living or dead--in the Commonwealth.

She still didn’t say anything; Yvette just sat, watching the glitter and gleam in Hancock’s overwhelmingly dark eyes and the waves of emotion showing so nakedly on his face. Ever since they’d come together, Hancock put off the sturdy facade of anger and lasciviousness he so carefully kept and maintained whenever it was just the two of them. And on that roof, with smoke and fire on the wind, it _was_ just the two of them.

Hancock’s nerves were screaming, and he wished he’d snuck a hit of something before he’d gotten up on this soap box. Even at that moment, a hit of Jet would’ve been a real nice leveler. Calling Shaun a stupid asshole so many times, to her face? He’d probably overstepped. Probably overstepped by _a lot_. “Look, beautiful--” he started to fumble for an apology; he wasn’t sorry for what he said, or the point he was trying to make. If he had to be sorry for anything, it was for being so aggressive when she was feeling so low.

“ _Jean?_ Be quiet.” Yvette commanded gently. Along with the rage, the love, the indignity, the fear, she’d seen panic well up. It was time to quash that; she supposed she was failing again as a mother, not being so readily insulted at someone calling her son an asshole…but then again, he hadn’t ever really been her son, had he? Not since he was a baby.

Hancock swallowed. If she decked him, he could take it. If she shot him…that’d be a little more awkward. He just hoped she wasn’t thinking about going after his good-time parts; after all, she did know his limits and he was sitting there unprotected.

Yvette wiped her hands on her thighs, trying to clear the grimy feeling before she reached out and laced her fingers behind his head.

Hancock bent his head immediately at the touch, wrapping his hands around her wrists and knocking their heads together. He could feel every shift of the air between them; the way it cooled when she breathed in, the way it warmed right back up when she breathed out, the tickle on his face as she continued to do so. “I love you.” he said. He was supposed to be quiet…but it felt right to say that just then. It felt right to say it all the time, but he didn’t want to wear the words or her feelings out.

Yvette felt the tension starting to creep out of her neck and shoulders as she sat there with Hancock, listening to the little whistle as he breathed, the growl as he said ‘I love you’; whispering was a struggle for him, as it was for most Ghouls, so his low-and-intimate voice was gruffer than his feelings ever implied. There were still a lot of things to consider, loose ends to tie up, matters to attend to…but unlike some two years ago, when she’d staggered out of the Vault and careened off the trees into the Commonwealth, she didn’t have to go it alone. “ _Jean?”_ she sat back slowly, letting her hands un-knit from behind his head to trail down his neck and chest.

Hancock let her move, as reluctant as he felt to let go of her. “Yeah, beautiful?”

Yvette reached into her shirt, pulling out the holotags she’d been wearing since she’d woken up. They had been Martin’s, of course, as had one of the gold rings that swung beside it. The pair of rings had managed to survive this long, in spite of everything. She undid the chain to pull them off, then laid the holotags on her lap. She held the rings out for Hancock to see. “Would you ever consider to wear one of these with me?” she asked.

Hancock looked at the little circlets of gold in her palm; he knew immediately which one had been hers by how small and fine it was. The other was thicker, missing a few diamond chips at this point, and it dwarfed her little ring. She’d worn both of their rings around her neck, on his tags, from the day she’d come out of the vault. She’d kept them on when they fooled around; Hancock had learned to ignore the gleam and faint noise of them. And now they rested on the palm of her hand and she was…she was _offering_ him one. “You know, beautiful…the guy’s really supposed to ask.” He couldn’t help himself; the air was suddenly too thick, everything was too real, he was either too sober or too high, or he was dreaming.

“I should also be down on one knee, but you are in my way.” she replied with a small smile.

“You’d…you and me? Doing _this_?” Hancock had to ask. Had to know what she meant, no translation mistakes, no assumptions.

She nodded. “This, and more. For as long as we can stand it.”

Hancock picked up her ring; there was a diamond chip in the center and nothing else. It seemed too plain for what it meant, too plain for the girl with Atomic Blue™ eyes and the deadliest aim and the biggest goddamn heart in the whole nuclear world. “Beautiful, I can’t think of anything else I’d rather do.” He said, taking up her empty left hand and kissing the fingers, all all of her knuckles, the tips. “Not a goddamn thing.” he said as he carefully slid the ring on her; it took a little twisting and coaxing to get it in place--all the fighting and the scrapping had her hands a little beaten up. Still soft, still clever, the fingers still slim…just not as slim as they must’ve been when the ring first went on. But he got it into place and kissed the band hard.

Yvette smiled, feeling Martin’s ring warm in her hand as she held onto it as Hancock took his time with her fingers and putting her ring back on. These rings, these cheap-for-the-time, simple-as-can-be rings, had been something she couldn’t bear to look at for the longest time. They’d gone onto the holo-tag chain and stayed hidden and even when she knew she loved _Jean_ , knew it without a shred of fear or doubt, she hadn’t considered giving it to him.

It was hard to say exactly what had changed her mind; what had turned the gold in her hand from a weight to a joy, but the change had happened before this moment on the rooftop. It was just that then, with the legitimate plausibility of forever in front of them, and the assurance--and confidence--that she had him and he had her, that Yvette thought of the rings with hope instead of hurt.

Hancock honestly didn’t think the ring would fit; ol’ Marty had been a _tremendous_ man, and while he himself wasn’t exactly tiny, it didn’t seem like that hunk of gold was going to stay on his finger. Color him surprised when it managed to snug down proper, not even sliding to his knuckle when he gave his hand an experimental shake that made Yvette laugh.

“Sorry _Jean,_ you are trapped now.” she said, catching Hancock’s hand and kissing the ring and his knuckles twice.

“Well damn, guess I’ll just have to put up with being married to the baddest broad in the Commonwealth.” he teased. “Introduce you as my old lady and that kind of shit.” Hancock laughed as she wrinkled her nose.

“Please, _please_ do not introduce me as your ‘old lady’, I will be your wife and your lover but that makes me sound like your mother!” she protested.

“Yeah, I guess that’d be a little weird.” he admitted, sitting back and looking at her.

“ _Quoi?_ ” Yvette cocked her head; he’d gone quiet and sat back so suddenly and was just staring at her.

That surprised little quack was still so cute. “Just looking at _my wife_.” Hancock said, tasting the words slowly. “That’s all; just eyeballin’ _my wife_ and wondering how the hell I’m so lucky.” He watched the color rise in her cheeks, the glimmer in her eyes that she wiped away fast. “I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking…we should honeymoon in Goodneighbor.” he said with a grin.

Yvette flushed deeper, sniffing and wiping her eyes again. The grief was still there, for what had happened that morning and before…but it was, in its own strange way, worth it. “I think we said three months?”

“Bed, couch, and bath, yeah.” Hancock got to his feet, kicking the chair back so he could stand back and put his hands out to her. “And before you remind me there’s still shit to be done, lemme remind _you_ …you gotta live a little, beautiful. Actually scratch that. You gotta live a lot, beautiful. With me.” he nodded.

Yvette took his hands, squeezing them and feeling the gold bands press into both their fingers. She nodded. “Same for you _Jean_.” she stood.

The tinny noise of the holotags hitting the ground surprised them both. Before Yvette could bend down to grab them, Hancock surprised himself by doing it for her. He’d probably have a really serious bout with the hallucination later over this and a lot of other things, but he could live with it--had been living with it. Because the reality of the thing was that Yvette loved _him_ now, and even if he had to wrestle with a rivalry that was all in his head, Hancock still had _her_. “Here, beautiful.” he said, putting them in her hand.

Yvette squeezed the tags, then put them in her pocket. She wouldn’t get rid of them, wouldn’t leave them on some random rooftop overlooking a crater. No; when the time came to lay them aside for good, she’d put them in their bedroom, back at Sanctuary. For the time being though, they could live in her pack instead of constantly around her neck. “My husband. _So_ helpful.” She smiled.

Hancock felt the goofy grin splitting his cheeks; they’d be sore and bruised in about ten minutes but hell, it was worth it. As Yvette took his hand and they made their way to the elevator (so kindly sent up for them by the last Railroaders out), cuddled up to his arm and resting her head against his shoulder, Hancock knew it was so goddamn _worth_ it.


	2. Victory Party with a Tinge of Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because the fall of wicked deed-doers should be celebrated vigorously, because life is short [unless you're a Ghoul]

Their first stop, unfortunately, had to be the Underground’s former headquarters. The redhead with the square jaw had said to “reconnoiter” there temporarily for some reasons that Hancock had tuned out about a third of the way through her speech; he had a hard time focusing on people he wasn’t too interested in to begin with, and the more stressed he got, the less focus he had to spare…and seeing as how she’d been speechifying right before they were supposed to bust up the Institute, it had been a real struggle just to keep track of who, what, and where to be when (which was “right on his girl’s ass”, in answer to all those questions and more, as far as Hancock had been concerned).

He’d sort of been expecting some kind of somber to-do, but the crypts were pretty hopping all things considered. Someone had turned up the radio, pop and beers were circling the room as fast as they could go out, and even the screwball Assaultron was doing some kind of jig in the corner…or she was having a breakdown. Sometimes it was hard to tell with’em. Hancock didn’t see too many of the synths that had rushed past him to the platform. Probably already being snuck out to wherever it was they went; he didn’t know and he didn’t want to know. Yvette had him pretty convinced that they  _ did _ deserve as much of a life as they could manage, but he still didn’t want to see too many of the ones he  _ knew _ were synths hanging around. Too creepy and too close to what might’ve happened if his girl--his  _ wife _ \--hadn’t made the call she did.

That being said, there was still a 10-year-old elephant in the room; currently sitting on a mattress beside a box of Fancy Lads and a short stack of Unstoppables. He looked so goddamn normal, it was unnerving. Probably not a fair thought since the kid didn’t know what he was…Hancock realized he’d have to start steeling his nerve about the situation he’d married into. That he, John Hancock, had married into. Either it hadn’t sunk in fully enough to freak him out yet, or the timing had just been so right, because that gold around his finger still felt like the best high in the world.

“I have to speak to Desdemona, about…just be patient. Then it is you and me.” Yvette said warmly, kissing his cheek and squeezing his hand before drawing away slowly.

Hancock didn’t let go-let go until their fingertips couldn’t brush anymore. Then he looked around for the nearest chair to have a seat and clear some rubble out of his boots.

“Well,  _ well _ , well. Guess this means Whisper’s off the market, huh?”

Hancock looked up; it was the dress-up guy…Diego? Beacon? Bacon. Something like that. “Watch it pal, that’s my wife.” he replied drily; the guy had good eyes, Hancock had to give him that.

“Hey, I’m minding my manners. She’d shoot me in the nuts if I didn’t, after all.” he replied with a grin.

“You ain’t wrong.” Hancock grunted, getting his foot out finally and shaking out the boot. “What gave it away?”

“To be fair, I only just saw the ring on your hand and hers; I just figured from the way you two sauntered in all cozy, if you weren’t already in bed, you’d get there before the day was out.” The guy said with a shrug, grabbing a couple of beers out of the circulating bucket. “Toast for the success?”

“Why not?” Hancock got his foot back in his boot and accepted the beer, eyes sliding over to where  _ his wife _ was talking to the redhead. Their faces were damn serious, and he wondered if he shouldn’t go and drop some eaves. Parties like this were the best time; everyone always assumes when it’s loud, things don’t get heard. But Hancock knew that all you had to do was focus in and play cool.

“To a long and happy marriage, Mr. Mayor. Ya both deserve it.” Brighton knocked the bottom of his bottle against Hancock’s.

The toast sort of threw him for a loop; Hancock had been expecting him to say something about the raid or liberty or something like that. “Uh…thanks man.” He took the smallest, most cautious sip of his life. Big-Town was probably just trying to distract him, prevent him from dropping the eaves. There were a lot of ways to do that; standing in the way, striking up a conversation, chems in the booze…

“Where you thinking of honeymooning?”

Hancock snorted, resting the beer on his knee to avoid drinking it without thinking. “Oh you know, one of those pre-war tropical islands that somehow have been left untouched by rads or pants.”

“Good plan, good plan.” Bastion took a drink. “What about him?”

“Him who?” Hancock replied, playing deliberately dumb as he watched  _ his wife _ go into an alcove with the redhead. As soon as he got a decent opening, he was going after her, and the dress-up guy could just kiss his Rads.

“Cute.” Baron moved in front of him, blocking the swiftest way out of the chair. “C’mon man, this doesn’t freak you out a little? We’re talking about a kid that won’t ever grow up.”

That got his attention; Hancock looked up sharply as one of his growing concerns was given voice by somebody else. “So bleed, sweat, birth, but not grow?” he asked.

“Not that we’ve really seen. All the ones who have kids, or memories of kids, most of those were planted after the fact. Only aging we really see is what happens to all of us out in the ‘Wealth--just lines from the sun and the rads if they’re not careful, but anything we’d treat like aging so far has just been parts wearing out.” 

Hancock took a deep breath, and got to his feet, putting him about chest-to-chest with Boron. “That’s something for me and my wife to discuss, between us; you can get out of my way now. I get your boss probably doesn’t wanna be overheard but that’s tough shit, because that’s--”

“Your wife, I get it.” the guy replied, backing up a step, hands up in a half-surrender. “Can’t blame a guy for being curious.”

Hancock didn’t bother responding. He shouldered past, aiming for the alcove he’d seen Yvette and the redhead go down. Maybe he was going a little hard with the ‘my wife’ stuff, sounding like an old-world caveman or something. But if he’d learned anything-- _ anything at all _ \--about loving the way Yvette loved, it was that it had to be honest or it was nothing at all.

“--just for now. So I can think, Desdemona. I  _ need _ this time to think.” Hancock heard her say. He tucked up against the stone, posing casually and listening intensely.

“We’re still running ops Whisper, not a daycare.” Desdemona replied. “I’m not being insensitive to your situation, but there are still a lot of synths out there that need our help.”

“And if he was not what he was, we would not be having this conversation. I would take him to Diamond City, so he would be enrolled into school and with other children, with lots of eyes to care for him; a village to raise him.” Yvette said flatly. Her hands went to her hips, unable to keep her voice calm as the agitation mounted. “But if what you say is true, then how long would we have before people started to ask questions? Before they look at him and say ‘strange, he started classes at the same time as our son but our son is getting tall and deep and hairy and little Shaun is the same as ever’?” she demanded. “And then how long after  _ that _ before it becomes fear? Before we are attacked, pushed out into the Commonwealth with no protections? How long before the word spreads that there is a child synth and it explodes into ‘more children could be synths’?” Yvette spat fiercely. Even after falling for Hancock, and him for her, Yvette had planned on settling Shaun in Diamond City. Into school, into the community; she could be mobile, go and visit her lover, at least until Shaun was a man. But this Shaun would never  _ be _ a man and now all of those plans meant  _ nothing _ . 

Hancock’s heart froze; there’d apparently been a lot going on in her head that she hadn’t shared with him yet (and it had to be a ‘yet’, they  _ talked _ dammit). Not to mention she was dead right on what’d happen if it got out that the robo-kid was a robo-kid; history repeating itself and that kind of awful crap.

“I understand your concern--” Desdemona began. Whisper was a good agent--the  _ best _ actually, considering what she’d just managed to accomplish for them--and Desdemona didn’t want to lose her. But all those points about the never-growing child were just as valid for the Railroad as they were for her out in the Commonwealth.

“No, no you fucking don’t--you are used to adults. People you can slip in and out, who can be as invisible as you teach them to be. And maybe I could take Shaun with me always, never settle, always pick up and leave ahead of suspicions, but you know what Desdemona? That is not a life, for either of us. He deserves a place to be, and so do I.” Yvette said hotly. “I am not asking you to keep him forever, I am not even asking you to keep him a  _ year _ . Just a few weeks, while I go and tie up loose ends. While I try to puzzle out the best solution for both of us. For all three of us.”

Desdemona frowned. “Three? What?”

Yvette held up her ring finger with the same angry flick the other finger usually went up. “ _ Three _ , Desdemona. Demote me to tourist, to less than that, I don’t give a fuck. But yes,  _ three _ .”

Hancock’s frozen heart burst and melted in a wash of tingles that definitely settled halfway down his length. She hadn’t said his name but she didn’t need to; she was waving that little ring right in the red head’s face and telling her off. 

Desdemona blinked, leaning her head back to focus on the little glint of gold being waved around. “When did you--it doesn’t matter.” she said abruptly. “We will look after Shaun,  _ for a little while _ . But he can’t be a permanent fixture Whisper, not without…not without some very hard conversations.” she said firmly.

“That is all I am asking for, Desdemona. That is  _ all _ I am asking for.” Yvette replied. “Thank you.”

Desdemona made a non-committal noise, turning away from the unpredictable agent to step back into the main room. The Ghoul mayor brushed past her, and she frowned. Had he heard anything? What had been something of a blessing--an agent with such an… _ intimate _ in with one of the power-players in the area--was fast turning into a liability.

Hancock swept past the redhead and made a beeline for  _ his wife _ . His goddamn proud, beautiful, dangerous wife. He couldn’t even give her a second to speak; just yanked her into his arms and kissed her so hard it knocked his hat askew. He kept kissing her, backing her against the shoddy workstation, barely breaking off long enough to hoist her onto it and slot against her. 

Stunned, Yvette accepted the hard, bruising kisses and his hands digging into her ass as he boosted her onto the table. She felt his hardness even through all their combined layers, but his ferocity still threw her--Hancock was handsy, and insatiable, and had a penchant for getting her up against or bent over the nearest whatever when the mood really hit him--but this felt different. Like he was trying to tell her something important that she wasn’t quite getting.

Hancock growled, arms around her as he ground against her, still kissing and fighting her mouth. It was a little too toothy for tongue but he just couldn’t help it; there were times when she just got to him and he knew goddamn good and well by now that he could show her that instead of tamping it down or playing it off. For good measure, he decided right then, he was also going to put  _ his _ John Hancock right on her for the room to see.

When he lowered his head and started worrying the soft spot just past her jaw with his teeth, sucking and lapping at the skin and roughing it, Yvette moaned and grabbed at his shoulders. It was  _ such _ a bad weak point; even when he wasn’t toothsome like this, it was a spot that bruised easily and was at this point nearly always some shade of lightly bruised. That pain and pleasure tended to put her over the edge when he was inside, and drove her wild when he wasn’t. “Oh  _ Jean _ ,  _ Jean _ stop, stop, we are not alone, oh you  _ have _ to stop!” she gasped.

The way she said his name when she was getting fired up, all short and breathy while she hung on him, that was dreamy stuff. Hancock pressed his lips hard to the hickey, just to emphasize his point, before raising his head up enough to maybe talk.

“ _ What  _ was that all about?” Yvette demanded. “I am not complaining, but… _ Jean!”  _ she was having a hard time catching her breath, wishing very much that they were more than a few feet away from a crowd that she did not care to have see her in any state of flustered. This wasn’t Goodneighbor, after all.

“Fella’s gotta let his wife know how he feels, don’t he?” Hancock growled, squeezing her ass and coaxing her to rock a little for him. It was almost automatic now when they were like this; he’d squeeze and she’d wiggle and it felt great and fired them both up even more. He hadn’t quit worrying about the big picture, but knowing for sure--hearing her just as good as broadcast it on the radio--that she counted him in her planning too? Hancock  _ had _ to show his relief and his appreciation, even if it wasn’t going to go as far as he liked  _ right  _ then.

Yvette stared up at him; his expression was so darkly sensual, eyes half-lidded and gleaming, lips parted in a little snarl, chest rising and falling rapidly and his pulse quivering hard enough to make his blouse tremble around his throat. He was a wildly, ferociously passionate, vulnerable man, especially with that look on. She nodded a little. “You ahm…dropped trees, yes?”

“Eaves, beautiful. It’s called dropping eaves…and yeah, maybe I did.” Hancock was dizzy trying to keep up with her eyes, the way they roamed his face; like he was the only spot in the world to look at.

“How much did you hear?” she asked nervously. 

“That you’re planning for three of us.” he said heavily.

“...are you angry?” she asked in a small voice. Diamond City had not been her best plan because of their anti-Ghoul policies…but Goodneighbor was not really the best place for a ten year old boy. She knew--at least on the surface--that a calm Hancock would begrudgingly understand. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he would have understood it. But when he was mad with passion and need, Hancock was not always the best with his logic.

“Diamond City would’ve been a long talk, beautiful. I get why you’d think about it--you got the place there, Nicky and Ellie and Piper and Nat would’ve always been around…and even if it only meant getting together a few times in a month, I’d probably have dealt with it for a while. Been pissed, but dealt with it for a while.” He said. 

Yvette nodded.

“Then I don’t just get to  _ hear _ you got me in your plans, I see you sticking this little finger,” Hancock grabbed her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the ring finger and scraping his teeth across the gold and skin lightly, “up like a banner to the whole goddamn world, knowing if she’d’ve asked who it was with, you wouldn’t miss a beat saying my name like the proudest woman alive.” He kissed all over her hand, and bit the plumpness at the base of her thumb lightly just to make her jump. “You don’t know what it means to me, beautiful. I can’t begin to tell you, all I can do is try to show you.” 

She reached up, cupping his face. “There is something I want you to read, ok? We will borrow P.A.M’s computer. Read it, and I am going to talk with…with Shaun. Ok?”

Hancock frowned. “What is it?”

“Something that I hope will make you very happy.” she replied.

The mischievous glint in her eyes threw him, just a little. Didn’t do much to soften things downstairs, but it did get him curious enough to back off. “Alright beautiful…are we gonna wanna find a private corner after?”

“ _ Oh _ I think we will have to make several private corners ours.” She slid off the table and pressed a holotape into his hand, cupping his bulge with the other. 

It struck him right then that all that grinding and groping had him sore as hell but nowhere  _ near _ ready to go off. “Oh I hope it’s dirty pictures, I could really use a push right now.” Hancock teased, pressing into her touch. Mercifully, she didn’t squeeze; that probably wouldn’t be as fun as it usually was, right this second.

“Just read it,  _ Monsieur D _ _ éviant _ _.” _ Yvette said with a smile.

“Yes  _ ma’am _ Missus Perv, right away.” he winked.

Yvette shook her head and rose up on her toes to kiss him, pulling away before he could get his hands back on her. It was a dangerous move; Hancock in the flush of passion like this sometimes couldn’t be distracted until they were both done, she knew. But she loved him, and it was--at least in this heady state of victory and worry and tingling--worth it.

Hancock watched her walk away, tapping the holotape against his thigh. She was playing awfully coy; this was either going to be too-good-to-be-true news for them, or something real inspirational for later. He sat down at the nearby terminal, and slid the tape in.

Yvette’s heart caught, seeing Shaun cross-legged on the ground with snacks and comic books, looking for all the world like a normal little boy. Deacon sat beside him, and it seemed they were comparing the relative strengths and weaknesses of the Unstoppables group.

“Ya know, you’re making a good point, but you wanna know who my caps would go on for that fight?” Deacon was saying.

“Who?” Shaun asked eagerly.

Deacon looked up. “Your mom. She’d knock that brain-in-a-jar into the next century and make him apologize for getting brain juice on her floor.”

Shaun laughed, clear and bright like a child should, looking up at her. “Mom! Look how many Unstoppables Mr. Deacon has!” he held up the battered comic book to show.

“I am not surprised,  _ M _ ’ _ sieur Deacon _ is an avid reader.” she said with a smile as she knelt down. “Are you alright?”

Shaun nodded, clearly unruffled. “It was sad, seeing the Institute blow up…Father didn’t leave, did he?”

She shook her head. “ _ Non _ , he did not. He was…too sick to.” That was a short but mostly true answer, wasn’t it?

The boy nodded, looking down at the comic book in his lap. “He wasn’t a bad man Mom, not really.”

“Let us not talk about it.” Yvette said as she knelt down. “Not right now, ok?”

Shaun nodded. “Ok Mom.”

She took a deep breath. “I need you to do me a very big favor.”

He cocked his head. “What’s up?”

“Should I uh…?” Deacon jerked a finger over his shoulder.

“ _ Non, non _ , it is not a private question.” Yvette said quickly. “Tomorrow, we are going to a place called Jamaica Plains--” she began.

His face lit up. “To live?” he said eagerly.

Yvette steeled herself for the inevitable. “For a little while, I would like you to yes--with my friends.”

Shaun frowned worriedly. “Where will you be?”

“There are some things that I still need to do--paid things, you understand? Work. It will make us caps, which will help us. Do you understand?”

He nodded glumly. “I guess. Mr. Deacon said you knew a lot of people, and had to do a lot of work sometimes.”

Yvette gave Deacon a grateful side eye. “He is a very good friend, and very right.”

“You won’t go right away, will you?” Shaun asked fearfully.

“ _ Non _ .” she reached out mussed his hair, then smoothed it back down. “ _ Monsieur Hancock _ and I will make sure you are settled in before we go. I promise.”

Shaun nodded. “Ok, Mom.” he smiled.

“And don’t you worry kiddo; I’ll stick around a little bit longer. Still gotta argue about Mr. Barbarian versus Zap-a-rella.” Deacon added.

Shaun laughed. “You’re crazy!”

“ _ Oh _ I see this is a very serious conversation between gentlemen, I will excuse myself before it becomes uncivil!” Yvette said, barely holding back a laugh. “Be nice, and Shaun?” she said as she got to her feet.

“Yeah Mom?”

“Don’t make  _ M’sieur Deacon _ cry, he’s very tender.” she teased.

“I won’t!” Shaun said brightly as Deacon looked up at her incredulously.

She winked at him and he shook his head, mouthing ‘you owe me’ over Shaun’s head. Yvette nodded, giving him a sly little wave before moving away as Shaun opened the comic book on his lap again to point out a panel to prove some point. 

Deacon nodded back, watching her slink away. For a woman who probably had no idea what the hell tomorrow was going to bring now that her big mission was over, she was holding together really well. He had to admire that about as much as he admired the rest of her. Something tugged at his heart, or maybe just his shirt.

“Mr. Deacon, are you listening?”

“Sorry, sorry--lost my train of thought. Now back to how you’re wrong about Mr. Barbarian.” he teased.

Shaun rolled his eyes.

Hancock was still at the terminal, elbows on the table, fingertips steepled and pressed against his mouth. Stunned didn’t begin to describe the feeling he had.

“ _ Jean _ ?” Yvette said before she came to stand directly behind him, announcing herself before resting her hands on his shoulders. “Did you finish reading?”

“Yeah. Yeah I did.” he said shortly. “You uh…you really believe it?” Because he didn’t. He  _ certainly _ did not. Never in his life had Hancock’s luck been that good.

She nodded. “For all their many, many, many flaws, they did make good science…sometimes.  _ And _ considering the doctor who determined this met with an unfortunate accident very shortly after approaching Shaun with the findings and I was told to mention them to no one in the Institute…I feel very confident believing it.” Yvette started massaging his shoulders, working slow from the outside to along his neck.

Hancock groaned, head tipping back immediately. She always went in hard with her thumbs, right from the start, working him through the layers. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks now? I have been trying to figure out how to explain to you, because I know you would want proof--good, hard proof you could put caps on to trust.” Yvette murmured as she kneaded and massaged his shoulders. “Because you are good, and you give such great care to me, and you worry  _ so _ very much to keep me safe.” she purred, turning the chair and him away from the table and the terminal, just enough for her to straddle his lap and sit down, wiggling close.

“So what’s this mean for us, beautiful?” Hancock asked, like he couldn’t already make a very good guess. But he wanted to hear her say it all sexy like she was about to; she never sounded anything but sexy when she sat on him like this.

Yvette put her cheek against the side of his head so she could whisper into his scarred ear. “It means,  _ mon cher…mon coeur…mon d _ _ éviant _ _ …”  _ She began, rolling her hips to stay steady as he shivered. 

Hancock had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. It was a damn dirty cheat, her sitting on him like this and purring in his ear with all those cute little pet names she had for him. He’d gone just about presentably soft while reading, but three purrs in his ear and he was back to being ready enough to bore through a cinder block wall to get to her on the other side.

“That from now on, unless you are being a  _ dirty _ , naughty boy for me…you don’t pull out anymore.  _ Ever _ ; you do not give the ground, or the wall, or the mattress a single drop.  _ Tu comprendes _ ?” she whispered.

He was about to cream himself right there, hand to chem dealer he was going to pop off right there from a talk job! 

“My mouth. My ass. My breasts… _ ma salope _ …” Yvette whispered, sliding her hands under the coat to his chest. There was enough noise beyond them that he might even let her open his blouse to touch skin-to-skin, but for the time being she could wait. As long as Hancock  _ her husband _ got her point. “Inside, and inside, and on, and inside?”

Hancock growled.

“So you do understand?” she pressed. There was one more thing Yvette knew she could do to send him over the edge. She nuzzled against his cheek and the side of his face, and then flicked the roll of scar tissue that was his ear with her tongue.

It was another damn dirty cheat, that wet little flick! Hancock slapped her ass hard with one hand while the other grabbed for the bun at the back of her head. He dug his fingers into it, getting a good grip on the swirling braid that made it up, and he yanked. “I understand if you don’t get on your fucking knees I’m gonna split these jeans open and I don’t give a fuck who comes in and sees.” Hancock snarled. He was at the point then that that was the absolute truth; while normally they kept their dirty play between just them…mostly, and he  _ never _ wanted her to get the idea he  _ actually _ thought of her like a cheap 3-cap hooker, Hancock was aching too bad and feeling too crazy for her to hold on to that restraint.

Yvette slid off his lap fast, banging her knees to get to the floor. He’d worn the lace-ups today, thank merciful anyone! They were thicker leather, not easy to pull down partially, but she could untie them, push aside the flap underneath and set his wonderful cock free without issue.

Hancock grabbed her head, struggling to work his fingers into her hair to grip. The braid was tight though, and he knew he would wind up pulling some of her hair out before this was over. But she didn’t seem at all bothered, opening her soft mouth and taking him in as fast as he could push her down. Hancock groaned, slouching down and bracing his feet as he fucked her mouth; she was so deliciously soft, so relaxed,  _ so practiced _ at this. Even when he brushed the back of her throat, she didn’t gag or fight him, just gripped his calves harder. He was gonna pop off fast, he was going to get to--to--

Yvette closed her eyes, willing herself soft and pliable. That was the trick to this kind of head; be a slick, warm place for him to fuck and focus mostly on not choking rather than any real sucking. She just hoped when he came, he either kept it shallow or went deep; something about the pressure of a man’s release right before her gag reflex made it want to act out worse than when a man had his head full on it, or held back and gave her tongue plenty of room to catch and swallow.

He couldn’t do it; the words on the terminal were  _ right there _ , he could look right over and read them again and again, but he just couldn’t do it. Hancock pulled her off roughly and pushed her to the side, twisting the chair away and giving his cock a couple of quick pumps, making a mess all on the side of the chem station. But he just  _ couldn’t take the risk!  _ When he finished and twisted back, Yvette was glaring at him, rubbing the back of her head. “Shit--I’m sorry, you got any bald spots?” Hancock asked, reaching out to her.

“No, you put me to the table.” she replied peevishly, but let him run his worried fingers over her head. “I thought you understood you could now, without worrying.”

Hancock tried to smooth her hair down. “Look, beautiful…you gotta understand something, ok? Look at me, lemme try to explain.”

Yvette sighed, easing back from him to sit flat on the floor. “Ok  _ Jean _ , I’m listening. You had better put yourself away though, before someone walks into us.” she nodded at his cock hanging against his thigh.

“ _ Right _ .” Hancock put himself away with some difficulty; he’d come and was relatively soft, but he was sore from the ebb and flow of the tease, and frankly watching  _ his wife _ mess with her hair could get him ready to go well before she even managed to get her hair all the way undone.

Yvette pulled her hair over her shoulder, finger-combing and petting and trying to rescue what pins she could. “ _ So _ …talk to me  _ Jean _ . Explain to me, ok?”

He nodded. “No secret, I been around the block, right?”

She nodded.

“A few times.”

Yvette snorted. “Bragging? Right now?  _ Really, Jean? _ ”

Hancock rubbed his forehead. “Sorry, habit. Anyway, you know that. S’why I got a system in place, ya know? Other Ghouls, you don’t worry about the rads with, unless one of you is edging on the feral. Beautiful, soft gals like you? I fuckin’ worry. Dunno if I really could…ya know, get enough in you to…” Hancock stammered. “As funny as ‘literal fucking weapon’ would be for a title, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Not to a caps-hooker and sure as fuck not to  _ my wife _ .” he swallowed. The taste of those last two words was so sweet. 

“But  _ Jean _ \--” Yvette tried to interrupt as she started to re-braid her hair. 

“I read the report, ok?” Hancock said before she could go on. He had definitely read it. Four times before she came back as a matter-of-fact, because the first time didn’t make any sense and the second time made even less sense; then he crunched about half a box of Mentats, and it had made  _ logical _ sense the third time, but he was back to not believing it by the fourth when she came back to him.

Yvette-- _ his wife _ \--a ghoul*, just like him. Only not  _ just _ like him, or any other ghoul he knew in the Commonwealth. She was smooth and gorgeous and just as resistant to the radiation as he was. That was why she was so sensitive to the smell of it, how she could pinpoint a coming Rad-storm before the sky even  _ started _ going green; how she’d spent two years living like the rest of them in the Commonwealth and barely had the wear-and-tear to show for it. She had the same kind of quirky gene that let her deal with the extra radiation without immediately going to pieces like even the Children of Atom did eventually. The scientist who’d done up the report guessed that getting dosed and then immediately getting put on ice just gave her body the time to do whatever it was it did to deal with the rads without having to ditch bits and pieces that didn’t matter, like fingernails and noses…and occasionally toes. 

And what that all meant? Well it meant that  _ in theory _ he didn’t have to keep slapping her with the Rad-Away after a few rounds. That she didn’t have to prepare to go down on him by taking the Rad-X and still having him pull out  _ just in case _ . That barring too many bullets to the body or a bad fall or a hungry Commonwealth something, she could live just as long with the right kind of care and attention. The idea of it was spectacular; they really could go any time, anywhere, any position, for essentially ever. The reality of it though? He’d have to get used to it; work up the nerve to test it.

“I read it.” Hancock repeated. “And I’ll read it again if you want me to, ok? But it’s blowing my mind, and the last thing I wanna do is  _ hurt _ you, ok? You can understand me on that, right?” he didn’t mean to sound so whiny at the end.

Yvette finished braiding her hair, twisting the ends around and tying it off with the little o-ring she’d salvaged to use just for that purpose. Whatever irritation she’d had disappeared at his pleading tone. She nodded, and sat up on her knees, pulling Hancock closer by the chair so she could sit up between his legs. “I do. I do, and I  _ love _ you for your care, ok?” Yvette cupped his face and kissed him, in the soft sweet way that always made his eyes watery. “I am not mad. I only want you to know this, so that…well…we can be more spontaneous. That we do not have to say to each other ‘oh I want to, but we are out of radiation medicines’; and that you do not have to worry about sitting in the bathtub with me.” This last thing she said quietly. She wasn’t quite sure where he had developed the idea he could essentially make rad-stew with a bath; but everyone has some kind of nonsense quirk, she knew, and it was kinder to acknowledge than to mock those things.

Hancock swallowed. “Too goddamn smart for me.” he said.

“Well I did get my Mentats dose just now.” she teased, kissing him again. “And another.”

He couldn’t help but grin when she kissed him a third time. “Gonna overdose at this rate, beautiful.”

“It is fine, I am drunk with love; I have a buffer.”

Hancock laughed, wrapping his arms around her. “Look, lemme…get used to the idea. And I’ll probably still dose ya when I’m having a paranoid day.”

Yvette nodded, butting up under his chin and working her arms around him. Her knees were starting to get sore, but for the moment she could survive it for this closeness. “As long as you do not go into the proper freaking out, I can be patient.”

He snorted, rubbing his cheek against the top of her head. “Anybody else know?”

“Just me and just you, now. I did not think it was something to tell around, even without being told so.” Yvette replied.

“Good call. Probably wouldn’t go over too well with a lot of people…although knowing a  _ Ghoul _ has a place in Diamond City…” Hancock trailed off; in his head it had been funny, a real joke on his brother. Out loud it just sounded…like bad times he didn’t want to keep dwelling on.

“You know, I thought the same thing? Made me laugh too hard for a moment, then I got pissed off.” Yvette murmured.

Hancock nodded. “Yeah… _ ” _ he sighed. 

After a few moments of just sitting there, ignoring the mess on the table and listening to the party just beyond them, Hancock figured it was probably time to say something. “So…what  _ is _ the plan, beautiful? I mean I know we said three months but uh…” he trailed off.

“I would like for you to come with me to Jamaica Plains--just to make sure Shaun and the others arrive safely?” she pulled back, settling back and resting her arms on Hancock’s thighs. “I told him that I still had some jobs to do, to make caps, for us…it seemed reasonable.”

Hancock smoothed back her hair. “Yeah, I mean…you can always pick up some when we’re in Goodneighbor.” he said tentatively.

She smiled. “Daisy will run me to pieces if Magnolia does not get me first.” Yvette sighed. “I promised him that we would spend a few days, to make him feel settled, and then come back…I was thinking that…well…maybe not three months in a row, but we could have the time to relax, the way we want to?” she bit her lip.

Hell, if she said to put on the containment suit and stroll back into Diamond City, he would. It was a good thing they were hooked up, because Hancock would feel like a goddamn idiot going that far a second time for her without that kind of pact between them. “And you can think.” Hancock said.

Yvette nodded. “I think better in your bed.” she added with a slow smile.

He loved that slow grin of hers, the way it just spread until the corners of her eyes wrinkled and made her look so pleased; like a mouser with a whole Mole-rat to herself. “When do you have time to think there?” he teased.

“Oh, usually after about the fifth round, when you have to take a nap.” Yvette said brightly.

Hancock laughed. “Too goddamn smart for me.” he repeated, cupping her face and leaning down to kiss her on the forehead in the way that always made her giggle.

“Alright lovebirds, break it up!” Deacon called from the archway, a bottle of beer in his hand. “There’s a kid present now!”

Yvette rolled her eyes and shook her head, getting up on wobbly legs and leaning on Hancock to keep steady. “Feet are asleep.” she murmured to him, to ease the suddenly worried expression on his face.

“I could carry ya. That’s a thing husbands did, ain’t it?” Hancock teased as he got up, pushing the chair back towards the terminal and avoiding looking at the crafting table. 

“Over thresholds, yes I suppose.” Yvette replied as she took his hand and led him towards Deacon. “Only I would not let  _ Martin _ do that?” she said as she took the beer from Deacon with a quiet ‘thank you’. “Too fat-pregnant to feel safe doing that, we kind of did a little sideways hop to get inside the apartment that first time we came to it as husband and wife…I do not remember if he picked me up to go into the house at Sanctuary…” she murmured, frowning as she took a drink.

Hancock put his hand over hers around the bottle, stealing a sip and the taste of her at the same time with a grin. “Really?”

“I mean he probably did? He could do that to me very easily after all…but I do not think he did.” Yvette squinted. “Maybe we did the silly hop then too.” She shrugged. “I cannot remember that but I can remember how long it took us to agree on a wallpaper for the nursery.” she snorted.

Hancock laughed. “Well ya know, it’s the important shit that sticks with ya after all.”

Yvette snorted. “His mother got involved.”

Hancock winced. “Woof, you hadn’t blocked that out already?”

Yvette laughed, shaking her head and sidling up close to him again as they shared the beer and the general air of celebration. Whatever tomorrow held, she would not have to face it alone…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I'm one of those people that plays on 'godmode' because I want the story, not to break a controller after being curbstombed by somebody in Power Armor or a Deathclaw or my own stupidity involving a Fat Boy--so I've never had to really deal with the things you're supposed to deal with, like damage and Rads :D After watching a short science thing about radiation and what it does, and thinking about Ghouls too much [I know, you're shocked], I thought maybe the Sole [at least mine] COULD be a Ghoul.  
> After all, after the exposure she IMMEDIATELY went into a Cryogenic state, which unlike the steak in your freezer is more of a "get the body down to just barely keeping itself alive" kind of thing (there's more science to it that basically says we can't do it IRL but this is the nuclear-powered playground); if all it takes is the adaptive gene, then getting 200 years to process and mutate in a safe, contained environment could in theory get you a nice smooth Ghoul...at least that's my logic, and it works for me, so I'm sticking with it :D  
> Stay tuned, the next chapter is the raunchy church one :D
> 
> Also IDK yet why Hancock just does not jive with Deacon, but it's hilarious to me and I may just keep on writing it that way


	3. This is Where the Tags Count [and Martin is a Nice Hallucination For Once]

After about five days of being on top of each other with constant supervision and no time to sneak off, Hancock was about at his limit. He was trying to be patient; it was one thing to go down an alley around the neighborhood for a quickie, or find a relatively dark corner of the Rail, but with the kid around? He didn’t even entertain the thought of asking her. What made it even worse (and frankly, weirder) was that watching her go around with the robo-kid, watch her slide gently into motherhood again was starting to rev him up too. The same thing had happened with the fridge kid; something about the way Yvette could go from soft and gentle to ferocious at the drop of a cap…it just got him all twisted up and hard for reasons he really couldn’t figure out.

Thankfully, after a lot of goodbye’ing, they were FINALLY on their way. Even better, the road so far had been quiet, with clear skies overhead and a cool breeze that meant the Bloatflies would be slow and lazy. Hancock walked a couple of steps behind for the same reason he always did; to watch her walk. That didn’t help the wound-up feeling though; he was about ready to drag her behind some Mutfruit bushes and get real primal and dirty. Hancock had to laugh at himself for it; jonesing as bad for _his wife_ as he did when he had to go longer than usual between hits of anything. Then she’d stopped walking.

Hancock tensed, eyes and ears keyed in. “Something up, beautiful?”

Yvette turned around. “Would you….want to stop early today?”

He cocked his head. “You ok? That Brahmin kick yesterday was pretty rough--” Hancock started, thinking she’d been stifling pain again when he caught the sparkle in her eye. “Oh thank fuck, I thought I was the only one.” he beamed.

She laughed. “No, trust me--I can just hide mine easier.” she said with a wink. “There’s a little church over there, might be a place to go down.”

Hancock frowned. The building did look pretty solid, all things considered, and he didn’t hear anything rattling around the tall grass around it. But that extra little sparkle in her eyes…she was up to something. “Sure, beautiful…if you’ll tell me what you’ve got going on behind that pretty face.”

Yvette shook her head. “Humor me for now--if it seems decent enough inside, then I will share. Deal?”

He nodded. “Deal.” Hancock stepped up to match her steps so they could check around together; there was a time and place and minimum safety level appropriate for ogling, after all.

Aside from the usual dust and bones and trash, the church was pretty clear. It didn’t even smell like the wild things had gotten too deep in it. Maybe they weren’t into because of the echos; for such a small space, the high ceiling had their steps bouncing around all kinds of crazy. It was a little unnerving, Hancock thought, but Yvette didn’t seem bothered at all. “It’ll definitely keep the rain off.” he said. “So what’s up, beautiful? And is it gonna be fun?”

Yvette grinned. “Maybe, if you are game--see those boxes over there?” she pointed to the corner of the room by the door.

“The closets? What about’em?” Hancock said slowly.

“Not closets. Well technically yes, but not for clothes.” she picked her way over, kicking the doors lightly to see if anything stirred inside, then very carefully pressed the door open, shining the Pip-Boy inside and sweeping the corners. “ _Bien_! No one has made this a piss-closet.”

She sounded so giddy; Hancock wondered what he was about to be in for. He was pretty sure he’d like it, he just wasn’t yet on the same page with her. “Good for us?”

“ _Très beaucoup_.” Yvette shrugged her pack off, stowing it in one side. “For safety.” she explained.

Hancock nodded, shrugging out of his and stowing it with hers. It was a weird little closet; a seat with no hole, and a hole in the wall between it and the next one. “What is this, Church of the Holy Glory Hole?” he joked.

Yvette laughed, a happy twitter that rattled the rafters. “There used to be a grate there, to talk through but not see the other person.”

“Kinky.”

“Not quite. These are the confession booths.” She explained. “A priest would sit here, and you would go in here,” she stepped into the other side, “and confess.”

Hancock wondered which side he should step in on. But he’d gone five days with just a few embraces, just as many nights spooned up with her with no way to get inside; he was gonna cram into whatever hole she was going in, unless she told him otherwise.

“Like what?” Hancock asked as the door squeaked shut behind him. It was a tight fit between him, her, and the shotgun.

“Oh, all kinds of bullshit.” Yvette replied, shifting him around until she could get him to sit on the bench.

The little closet was getting warmer, the wood-rot smell disappearing under the smell of soap and sweat and--Hancock was starting to pick it up like he picked up the smell of rads-- _her_. “Yeah? Why the hell was that a thing?” He asked as she went down to her knees. The pants were already straining and she hadn’t made a move yet.

“Eh, because it was preached that if you confessed, and did your punishments, you could be forgiven and clean and God would let you into Heaven.” Yvette shrugged. “Which was very good in theory, but the punishments were very long prayers and for some of us, everything we did and do was a sin to confess.”

Hancock raised an eyebrow. “Oh I know you’re a bad girl Miss Dupont,” he teased, “but what’s a pretty thing like you got to tell some old bastard behind a fence?”

Yvette giggled, leaning against him. “It’s _Madame ‘Ancock_ now, I think?”

That made Hancock’s mouth dry up and then fill up just as fast. “…fuck, it sure is.” She was so warm against him, and her belly was in just the right place to feel him standing up. “Not a sin for us to be in here, is it?”

“Oh _Jean_ …this poke I feel? Sin.” she grinned.

He laughed. “It’s biology, how it’s a sin?”

Yvette smirked. “Because everything fun is a sin.” she licked her lips. “That you and I _fucked_ before we put on our rings? Sin. That I have ridden you like a cowgirl? _Sin_. That you have bent me over every surface in your room and had me in some positions I cannot even describe without a diagram?” she prompted.

“Sins? You’re shittin’ me--how the hell are you _supposed_ to fuck then?” He shifted his hips, starting to get an idea what she might want to do in this little closet where she’d probably gotten a lot of shit back in the old days.

“Strictly missionary, strictly for babies, and if it’s too fun? Sin.” She said brightly.

“Thank fuck you apparently missed that memo.” Hancock said, licking his lips. “So say Father No-Fun’s sitting on the other side of this thing…just listening.”

“And judging.” Yvette added.

The idea was kind of hot? Hancock nodded a little, easing her back to pull the laces on his pants and ease himself out. He gave his cock a few pumps.

“Also a sin, that.” she teased.

“Well before you save me from myself, can _I_ get a little something?” Hancock licked his lips. “Can you…take your hair down? I mean all the way…just…if I’m getting you in trouble,” he winked, “I wanna be in trouble too.”

Yvette smiled warmly and nodded. She settled down just long enough to pull the pins and shake out the braid until her hair was free, wavy and twisting down her back.

Hancock growled, tucking the shotgun beside him pointed up, just in case. He reached out with both hands and grabbed great handfuls of her hair, twisting it up with his hands, using it to pull her towards him. She kissed him once before dropping low and taking him in her mouth, all at once.

He gasped, hips flexing involuntarily. Five days without so much as her palm, and now he had her whole goddamn mouth and her hair and just _all_ of her to himself, _and_ he was getting to do something weird for her that he didn’t quite understand. It got him good; Hancock couldn’t help the snarl as he started to bounce her against him. “That’s right baby, that’s right, tighter; _fuck_ do you have any idea how much I’ve needed this?” Hancock demanded with a gasp as he felt the back of her throat for the first time in a goddamn week.

Yvette moaned, holding her lips tight and jaw wide to keep her teeth off him. The long ridges along his cock were catching her spit with every thrust; she could feel it running down her chin and onto her shirt but that was just part of it. She’d wanted him, needed him, just as hard at that moment.

“Probably not supposed to do _this_ in here, huh?” Hancock rambled, licking his lips as the little closet practically shook with his enthusiasm and the slick noises coming from her mouth as he used her. Yvette hummed something that might’ve been a negative but all Hancock could feel was the pretty tremor from head to base that made his stomach tighten. “Fuck, _fuck_ I’m already close--” he started to pull her away like usual, but then she looked up at him. She always looked up at him when he was in her mouth like this; knew he liked it, threw him flirty looks the whole time until he pulled out to finish. But this time, Yvette was looking up at him with something like desperation, and she whimpered. “Inside, huh? You sure, beautiful? You sure you want it inside?” he pulled her off his cock, saw the drool running down her chin and how much had collected on his skin.

“ _Please_ _Jean_ , please.” her voice was raspy and thick, the way it got when he’d nudged her throat and she was too hot.

Hancock swallowed, dragging his thumb along her bottom lip just to feel; sometimes working his shaft hard and fast, they got a little puffy; almost like they were bruised. He liked the way they looked, the way they felt when they got like that. “Got something in your pack?”

She nodded.

“Tellin’ the truth?” he asked; there wasn’t really a reason to ask that. She’d always been real good about limits, as good as he tried to be with her about his. But he had to ask, because he was so close and the next time he felt her hot little mouth wrap around him, he probably wouldn’t be able to pull her off in time.

She nodded again, much more vigorously this time.

Hancock bent down and kissed her roughly, to feel the puffiness of her lips, the salt of his own sweat mixed with her sweetness, pulling at her hair. It was going to be a mess by the time he was done. “I won’t hold back, beautiful, you understand that?”

Yvette nodded. “Please _Jean_ , please, please I beg.” she whispered.

The sweet begging got him as bad as the seductive begging, but in a totally different way. There were so many sides to her, and he’d gotten to touch some of them…and knowing that he had even more time to find more with her? It was enough. “Turn on that fuckin’ light, I wanna see you swallow.” Hancock hadn’t finished snarling before the little closet was full of that eerie green light. It caught her eyes, making them bright and greener than usual; but still hers, still Atomic as hell. “Look at me the whole fucking time.” Hancock said fiercely.

Yvette nodded, opening her mouth, tongue out.

Hancock wound his hands tighter in her hair, getting to his feet suddenly and pushing forward into her mouth. Feeling tangles up to his wrists as he forced his fingers to knit behind her head and hold her there, watching her eyes widen and feeling her fingers dig into the backs of his thighs, Hancock finally let go. He held her there, thrusting into her mouth, forcing her to lean back and take it, coming with a roar. He came so hard it _hurt;_ sharp and mean from his thighs to his gut, and the whole time he stared down at her. Her eyelids wavered and it was clear she was struggling but she didn’t close her eyes.

He felt her throat working against his head, her tongue digging into the dips on his cock trying to move drool and cum back to swallow around him. Hancock shivered, finally loosening his grip on her head and hair to land hard on the bench, head down and panting as he listened to her cough and finish swallowing. When he raised his head to look at her, maybe offer an apology, she met him with a kiss that tasted like salt and Rads, one arm around his neck to hold him in place while she guided his other hand down between her thighs.

Hancock moaned, deep and rumbly as he fought her tongue. It was a wet, filthy kiss that echoed in the little closet as he managed to grab her zipper and yank it down. Without being able to get her pants off, all he could really do was force his hand inside, get his middle finger over her clit and scrub it for all it was worth, press it as he cleaned her mouth for her.

Yvette bit his lip when she came, giving a strangled grunt and then a gasp at the taste of copper.

Hancock held his free hand to his lip, not at all eager to take the other one back. “It’s ok beautiful, it’s ok; just a little love bite. Gonna get you a lot worse later.” he said with a grin.

“I am still sorry.” she breathed, one hand going over his in her clothes and pressing it tighter against her.

“Think we can make it happen in here, or should we get out of here and into some more space?” Hancock cooed. “Makin’ your thing happen, after all.” he added as he struggled to get her off again. When it was hot and heavy, he could do it easy like before; but she was catching her breath and so was he, so mostly he was just getting his fingers good and wet and pushing her to that point where she would start getting cranky if she didn’t get off.

“You did, and I promise I’ll explain, but if we don’t fuck and I don’t have you all to myself right now, I’m going to lose it.” she whimpered.

Hancock beamed. “I’m _all_ yours beautiful; now that that big beautiful ass out of this fucking closet and lie down on the nearest bench; I’d bend you over but I wanna watch your fucking face.” he grabbed her chin with his free hand, holding her tight. “Got it?”

She nodded, backing shakily out of the closet to the nearest bench, dropping her pants and shaking one leg free completely so she could plant one foot on the ground and hook the other leg over the back, arms out to him.

Hancock got up, grabbing the Pip-boy and the shotgun just in case; it’d be a fine thing to get raided and shot in mid-fuck, especially with _his wife_ so fine and wet and begging for him. He set everything within reach and then landed on top of her; first with fingers while he rebounded and then with his cock, alternating between the two until the bench beneath them was slippery and she was in tears.

It was dark by the time they’d both managed to get calmed down. Being on the road, the best they could do was give each other a wipe with a towel and move away from the now-shining bench to rest against each other on a different seat; her all nestled up against him and his arm around her as best as he could manage.

“New rule,” Hancock said as he blew lazy smoke rings, “we don’t go that long without fooling around anymore. Damn near sent us both feral.” he joked.

Yvette nodded, nuzzling against his side. “Agreed.” she purred.

“So…all that earlier…” he began, waiting for her noise of assent before he went on, “bucket list kinda thing, or what?”

“Mostly just for that…also I figured if this place was so generally undisturbed, _we_ would be undisturbed. Two birds, one rock.”

Hancock chuckled. “Glad to help you, beautiful, I _really_ am.” he gave her a squeeze. “How’s the insides doing?”

“Very warm and toasty and satisfied.” Yvette yawned. “Are you too sore for me to put my head down?”

“Just be gentle.” Hancock said as he raised his arm and shifted to get comfortable before she laid her head in his lap. Too spent to get a tingle, awake enough to feel that surge of warmth that came from being close. It was good, good shit.

Yvette laid down, nuzzling his thigh.

“Not nauseous?” he asked after she settled.

Yvette was glad she was lying down, looking out instead of up, because she could not keep her eyes from rolling. “ _Jean_ , I am fine. I am warm, content, sore, happy, and it will probably take us longer to go back because my thighs will not be going fast tomorrow.” she said, trying to keep her tone light and easy; she hadn’t forgotten her earlier promise to be patient.

Hancock rubbed her shoulder. “I’m gonna check.” he said. “The day I forget, punch me in the balls.”

She laughed. “I will get Daisy to do it; she like to bust your balls so well.”

“I said punch, not nuke.” He chuckled, tipping his head back. The church still had a pretty good cover, but they were currently sitting under one of the empty spots, and he could see nothing but stars overhead. “Beautiful?”

“ _Oui, mon coeur?”_ Yvette sighed, eyelids heavy. She could drop off just like this, even lying on a hard pew; just as long as she had her man.

“I am _so_ glad I got to meet you.” Hancock said softly. It had dawned on him just then, as he stared up at the glittery sky, that a whole lot of crazy shit had had to happen for them to even be in the same place at the same time. That one change: like say that she had been holding the baby instead of ol’ Marty and been the one to get shot by that fuck-head merc, or that she’d died from a heart attack like a bunch of the other 111’ers, or even that she just…hadn’t seen fit to give him a chance…they wouldn’t be sitting in some old church on the road together, covered with each others’ sweat, still licking each other offer their lips. He wouldn’t have a thick gold band around his finger that went with the little gold band on her finger that meant everything.

Yvette made some soft noise, but in truth she was too satisfied and too tired to pay attention to what he’d said; sleep was coming, the good kind that made her wake up feeling ready instead of anxious.

Hancock chuckled and finished his cigarette. Just one little change, and his life would be _so_ very different.

“You’d probably be dead by now; overdose or a knife in the back.” Martin said, sitting beside Yvette’s feet on the pew.

“You ain’t wrong.” Hancock replied. The animosity, the jealousy, the fear…it wasn’t there for once; he’d probably feel it hard the next time this hallucination showed up, but for the moment he was too content to be bothered by someone else’s ghost.

“You probably won’t believe me, but it’s a good thing you’re not.” Martin said. “Just for her, ya know?”

Hancock looked down at her, asleep on lap. She wiggled, nuzzling and nestling into his thigh…the way she did when she went down for a good sleep. It choked him up. “Yeah. Yeah that’s probably the one thing we can ever agree on.” he whispered.

“Don’t lose her.” Martin replied. “Just don’t lose her.”

“Won’t.” Hancock said to the now-empty room. “Won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far after the first like 20 word file pages or just skipped to where the tags counted, thank you!   
> If you're surprised that Hancock's hallucinatory Martin was actually kinda nice...so was I until I went back and edited. Hard to beat yourself up when you feel that good :D

**Author's Note:**

> BOY HOWDY this is a long one!
> 
> This definitely is NOT the end of their kind of story, even in the weird a-linear fashion I've been telling it :D It was just the way the prompt kind of wound its way around. I'm still not sure what exactly would be the canonical ending for Synth Shaun, but that's a worry for another day. Also apologies for probably all of the wrong terminology with the church, I haven't been in one in....cannot tell you how long, and it was a Protestant chapel to boot lol
> 
> You also cannot convince me that Hancock's regular sitting position doesn't just scream BDE lol


End file.
